Summer Rain
by Salchat
Summary: John contemplates a mission gone wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This story was inspired by a camping trip with friends and family a few years ago. One afternoon it rained steadily, and all nine of us stayed in our large tent, chatting, playing games with the raindrops sliding down the canvas, just enjoying being in the moment, with no sense of urgency and that cosiness you always get when the damp is firmly outside and you are warm and dry. So, for contrast, in my story the team had to get rather cold and wet. And muddy!

**Chapter 1**

The soft patter of raindrops on the canvas above John's head was like a lullaby. Gentle, reassuring, the sound of summer rain that has set in for the day, falling in a steady, even pattern, cleansing the air of heat and dust, refreshing the lush, green vegetation that surrounded the Athosian camp.

John drifted off to sleep again, but once more jerked awake after a few seconds, his head turning quickly toward the other three occupants of the large tent. Teyla sat on the carpet-covered ground, one leg crossed, the other, with bandaged ankle, stuck out in front of her, upright but relaxed, her eyes closed, her face, a little paler than usual, at peace. Rodney lay on one of the beds, leaning against a stack of cushions, tapping at his laptop, occasionally rubbing his chest with a grimace of discomfort. Ronon sat on the floor, stoically fixing some long, jagged rents in his leather coat, bandages visible on his arms and John knew there were more elsewhere.

"Still here, Sheppard," grunted Ronon, without looking up.

"Just checking," said John sheepishly.

"Yes, for like the fiftieth time!" exclaimed Rodney. "Why don't you just go to sleep?"

"Trying," mumbled John.

He turned away, feeling his body protesting. The canvas door was fastened back to allow the mild breeze to circulate. John could see the raindrops still falling steadily, creating a grey haze in the air, obscuring his view of the forest that bordered the camp. His eyes fell to a slowly-forming puddle and he watched the random splashes of the raindrops and felt his eyes grow heavy once more.

He was back in the Ancient facility on another forest-covered planet. Here it was cold though, autumn heading for winter with a bitter breeze and intermittent showers of stinging sleet. Rodney was tapping excitedly at his laptop, hooked up to the console in front of him, which held in its centre that holy grail of Ancient tech, a ZPM.

"How much juice do you think that thing has, McKay?" asked John.

"To be honest, probably not much," replied Rodney. "But maybe enough for a couple of months of power for Atlantis."

"Coupl'a months sounds fair enough," said John. He looked around the deserted facility, the octagonal room, roof intact, but invaded by creepers which had climbed the walls and had had to be torn away from the console so that Rodney could work. "Hmm..." He chewed his lower lip in thought.

Rodney rolled his eyes and stood up straight.

"Okay, that must be the tenth time you've done that!"

"Done what?" asked John.

"The looking around, the 'hmm', that thing when you chew on your lips as if contemplating the many and varied possibilities for disaster!"

"That's my job, Rodney, thinking about all the things that could go wrong and trying to stop them!"

Rodney folded his arms and faced John, with a challenge in his eyes. "So tell me, Great Protector, what's going to go wrong this time? A ZPM here for the taking, just about ready to disconnect and we can be on our merry way back to Atlantis. No natives with spears, guns or assorted ordnance, no Genii, no Wraith... What could go wrong?"

John winced. "Don't say that, Rodney! Plenty of things could go wrong, but I was just thinking...well, don't you think this has been a little too easy?"

"So we're complaining about easy missions now, are we? Well, as it happens, I've come prepared!" Rodney reached into a pocket of his tac vest and pulled out a personal shield, not the usual green colour, but this time a translucent cherry red. "When I make the final disconnection I shall be wearing this cleverly enhanced shield, which will protect me from any and all booby-traps those pesky Ancients might have left lying in wait for unwary scientists!"

"Okay, then," said John reluctantly. "That thing's not going to protect me or Teyla or Ronon, though"

"I'm sure you'll be fine if you just wait outside," said Rodney, flapping his arms at John in the direction of the door. "That's it, out you go, Colonel, won't be long!"

John stepped outside where Ronon and Teyla were keeping watch, uncomplainingly in the now freezing rain.

"Anything to report?" asked John.

"Hail, a bit of sleet and now rain," said Ronon, his hair and clothes dripping, his cheeks red with cold.

"Teyla?"

"I believe there may be some wild predators inhabiting this forest," she replied. "Something like a large cat."

"Well, let's hope they decide to stay home out of the rain," said John.

"He nearly done in there?" asked Ronon.

John opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned by a massive explosion. Dust and debris shot out of the door and the three teammates struggled to keep their balance in the shockwave that made the ground quake. The dust settled.

"Stay here," said John, "I'm going in."

John peered cautiously through the shattered remains of the door. He could see the central console was reduced to a mangled distortion of metal, the ZPM a blackened husk. The floor was covered with rubble and beneath a large pile, John could see glimpses of Rodney's uniform.

"Ronon, get in here!" he shouted.

Ronon ran in and between them they began hauling rubble away, revealing Rodney's body beneath.

"No-one could survive that!" said Ronon.

"They could with one of those," said John as he lifted away a block of masonry, revealing the shield device still attached to Rodney's chest. The device had turned black and a large area of Rodney's uniform was burned away or scorched, showing an angry red patch on his chest beneath. John felt for his pulse and was relieved to find it, although worried that it was quick and erratic.

Ronon had checked Rodney for other injuries. "Can't find any broken bones," he said.

"Good, but I think we need to get him back, fast," said John. "Our next check-in's not for a couple of hours. We'll make a stretcher and get him as far as we can, then call for a Jumper."

"On it," said Ronon, springing up and taking out his largest knife, ready to fell some saplings.

oOo

Rodney did not regain consciousness in the time it took them to make a stretcher. They loaded him carefully onto it, covered him with emergency blankets from their tac vests and set off in the direction of the Stargate.

The terrain around the Stargate was a mixture of pine and deciduous forest, the deciduous trees all having shed their leaves, making the going slippery underfoot. There were also open, rocky areas where the wind flew in their faces with its full force, driving the alternate rain and sleet before it, stinging their faces and freezing exposed hands.

"I think there was a case to be made for bringing winter gear," commented John, with gritted teeth.

"The MALP did not show the weather to be quite this inclement!" shouted Teyla, above the roar of the wind.

Ronon just adjusted his grip on his end of the stretcher and plodded on.

The river they had traversed to reach the Ancient facility had, of course, risen. There had at one time been a substantial stone bridge which had long since fallen, but significant chunks of masonry had been left to form negotiable stepping stones. Some of the stones were now underwater and a worrying amount of debris was being washed downriver, ready to swipe unwary travellers into the dirty brown torrent.

It had, however, at least stopped raining or sleeting or hailing.

"Well, it's not going to get any lower for us standing here watching it," said John.

"I'll carry McKay," said Ronon. "You take the stretcher."

"Alright, good plan," John agreed.

Ronon picked up Rodney in a fireman's lift and strode boldly out onto the stepping stones. He stopped once to watch a large branch sweep over the stone ahead of him, but made it without incident, setting Rodney down under the trees on a dry patch of ground.

"Teyla, you next, I'll follow," said John.

Teyla stepped nimbly over the stones, John slower, balancing the stretcher awkwardly. Suddenly Ronon shouted urgently, "There's a load of logs coming!"

John and Teyla looked up and saw the logs tumbling and crashing toward them. John stepped back toward the far bank, Teyla jumped across the next two stones, avoiding most of the logs, which swept over the stones behind her. Another log crashed into the stone Teyla was on, making it shift on the riverbed. Teyla wobbled but righted herself. Then the pressure of the water forced the log on over the top of the stone. Teyla jumped over it, but when she landed the stone shifted again and tipped her into the water downstream.

She clung on by her fingertips and John jumped over the intervening stones and reached out for her but the rushing water was too powerful and her fingertips too numb. Before John could reach her she was swept away into the raging torrent. John held out the stretcher, hoping she could grab hold of it. He felt her hand grip the handle but then the stone under him tipped once more and he too slid, feet scrabbling in vain for purchase. He saw Ronon trying to get to him but more debris was hurtling down the river, over the stepping stones. John slid into the icy water and the stretcher was immediately knocked out of his hand. He couldn't see Teyla. He was forced underwater, flailed his arms and came up again to find himself rushing along, Ronon and the stepping stones receding into the distance. John did his best to swim for shore, slamming into submerged rocks, branches and debris knocking into him, forcing him beneath the surface where he couldn't help but swallow some of the dirty brown water. He came to an abrupt halt where logs had stuck against several rocks and hauled himself with numb hands toward the river bank. The logs shifted, about to give way and he kicked hard with his legs and launched himself as far as he could. He realised the water was no longer tugging at him and he dragged himself further into the sheltered area, shakily getting his feet under himself and staggering toward the shore. Suddenly there was an arm around him, helping and he was out of the water and being lowered to sit down against a tree safely up the river bank.

John looked up at Ronon. "Teyla?" he asked.

Ronon shook his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"We need to find Teyla," said John, his teeth chattering together.

"We have to get back to McKay, light a fire and get you warm first," replied Ronon, helping John to his feet.

John knew Ronon was right and he allowed himself to be supported back along the riverbank to where Rodney still lay, motionless.

"Hasn't he moved?" said John, worriedly.

"Not yet," said Ronon, helping John sit down next to Rodney. Ronon began searching for some dry wood, with not much success. He found some which wasn't too damp, added some tinder of his own that he kept in a pocket and aimed his blaster into the pile, resulting in a pretty good blaze.

"I like the style of your woodcraft," said John, arms wrapped round himself, still shuddering with cold.

"Take those off, you can wear this," said Ronon, taking off his coat and top, giving John the top and putting his coat back on.

John took off his waterlogged tac vest, jacket and shirt and put Ronon's top on. He saw Ronon looking at the bruises and cuts that decorated his torso and arms.

"Any of those bad?" asked Ronon.

"I'm good, for now," John replied.

Ronon continued to watch him. "You'll have to take your pants and boots off too and pull the blankets over you both," said Ronon, wringing out John's clothes and setting them in front of the fire to dry.

John grimaced with embarrassment, but knew Ronon was right. He still felt cold sharing the crinkly silver blankets with Rodney and as his body thawed out he became more aware of the many aches and pains caused by his river trip. He was reassured to hear Rodney stir and murmur a couple of times, though he didn't reply when John spoke to him.

After about half an hour Ronon said, "These are still damp, but at least they're warm. We need to get moving."

John reached out and began putting his clothes back on.

"Hey, it's past time for our check-in, isn't it?" he said. "Have you heard from Atlantis?"

"Think the explosion must've fried the comms," said Ronon.

John tried his radio, then reached over to Rodney's. Nothing. Not even static.

"Great. No rescue then."

John wrapped one of the spaceblankets round him to try to conserve warmth. His tac vest was still waterlogged so he had to carry it in one hand. Most of the water had drained out of his P90, and he attached it to its sling and had to just let it hang so he could hold the blanket with his other hand.

Ronon picked up Rodney and resumed his fireman's carry. They scrambled up a steep, rocky bank before reaching the top of the ravine that the river cut through. The route to the gate took them roughly parallel to the river, heading once more downstream. John kept trying to see down through the trees to the river, hoping for a glimpse of Teyla.

"I'll come back and look," said Ronon. "You and McKay need to get back to Atlantis, but I'll stay with the S&R team. I won't give up."

"I'll stay too," said John, but Ronon gave him a doubtful look. Truthfully, John wasn't feeling so good. He'd swallowed a lot of dirty water and after a few minutes his stomach rebelled and he had to stop and empty its contents, leaning heavily against a tree. He stood up, swaying, noticing that his cuts felt hot and itchy and his head was beginning to ache.

"Think I've picked something up from that water," he said.

Ronon looked at him. "Have to get going," he said. "Nothing else we can do."

"What, you can't carry both of us?" said John, drawing the blanket more tightly around him and shivering nevertheless.

oOo

They continued on through the forest for about half an hour, the freezing rain starting up again, falling down through the branches to land in large, soaking drops. John didn't think he could get any colder and he was distracted by a prickling sensation on the back of his neck that came and went strangely.

"Ronon!" he hissed.

"I know," said Ronon, "we're being stalked."

"One of those cat things Teyla mentioned?"

"Could be. Or two." Ronon paused. "They'll attack soon."

They carried on steadily plodding until Ronon said, "I'm going after them before they get us. You two need to hide."

He stopped next to a hollow in the ground at the base of a tree where bushes partially shielded it from sight. He lowered Rodney down and pushed him into the hollow; Rodney stirred and moaned slightly.

"Get in, I'll cover the entrance," said Ronon.

John reluctantly crawled into the hollow. He didn't want Ronon to have to fight the wild animals on his own, but realised he had no choice. And at least he still had his P90 to keep himself and Rodney safe.

"I'll chase them off, kill them if I can. I'll try to be back in half an hour. If not..."

"You'll be back," said John with conviction.

In his disturbed sleep, John saw again the thick, black slashes of the thorn branches that Ronon had used to cover over the entrance. He felt them shutting him and Rodney in, trapping them underground, a barrier to escape or rescue, prison bars that forced him to stay, helpless and passive, when he just wanted to run and fight and defend his team.

"John!"

Teyla's face was in front of him and he realised he was in the Athosian tent, safe, his team around him, the tapping of the raindrops still a steady, background presence.

"Um...sorry," he said, lifting a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His heart was still pounding, the urge to fight or run still there. He took a deep breath.

"You do not have to apologise," said Teyla. "Would you like to join me in meditation? It might be helpful for you to empty your mind."

"Er... no, thanks, Teyla, I'm good," he smiled awkwardly. Teyla resumed her posture on the floor, closed her eyes and began breathing slowly and steadily.

John noticed that Rodney had fallen asleep, curled on his side, arms around his laptop as if it were a security blanket. Ronon had taken out all his knives, arranged them in size order on the floor and was scrutinising each one closely, checking for miniscule imperfections. He glanced up briefly, but said nothing.

John lay back down, shifting to ease the pressure on bruised muscles. He stared up at the roof of the tent. Water was collecting in a small dip in the canvas above his head. Raindrops made their erratic pathway toward the small pool one by one, until, every so often, the pool would overflow and a gush of water would run off down the curved surface. Then the pool would begin to fill again, slowly, innocently, as if water could never be responsible for sweeping away a teammate, one second there, the next gone.

John remembered waiting, crouched in the undergrowth, his damp clothes growing colder from the frigid air and his own inactivity, leaching away any warmth minute by minute, bringing hard decisions closer and closer.

Ronon had not returned. John had heard Ronon's weapon fire, once, twice, then again, further away each time. He had waited, shuddering with cold, listening to Rodney, whose semi-conscious murmurings were slurred and distorted; he needed help.

John tried to think rationally but knew the cold was slowing his thought-processes. How long had it been since they'd missed their check-in? How soon would an S&R team be sent out? Soon enough to make a difference to Rodney? John didn't know how seriously Rodney was hurt, but the longer he remained semi-conscious, the worse it was looking. Should John try to carry Rodney or should he leave him in the hollow, protected by the thorns and try to get back to the Gate quickly, on his own? Was Ronon even now on his way back?

A decision needed to be made. John pushed the thorn-branches aside, crawled out of the hollow and stood, but was immediately overcome with a coughing fit that left him breathless and dizzy. He felt that none of the choices he could make would be right; he'd just have to take his best guess.

John couldn't carry Rodney; he could barely carry himself. He needed to move to get warm. He knelt down into the hollow once more, tucked the emergency blankets as securely round Rodney as he could and covered those with a layer of leaves that had drifted into the hollow, partly for camouflage, partly for insulation. Then he pulled the thorn branches back over the entrance, weaving them together to form a barrier.

John set off, determinedly, on his own; one teammate lost to the river, one to wild animals, one, with a feeling of absolute wrongness, abandoned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The light was fading so that beneath the canopy of evergreens, it was already hard to see. Fallen branches, pits and ridges slowed John's progress, roots tripped him and mud and half-decomposed vegetation brought him skidding to the ground. He picked himself up once more, at least feeling less cold from the exertion, although his face, fingertips and toes were still numb. John looked up between the branches and tried to orient himself in the dim light. The sun would soon sink below the horizon and in this pathless wilderness it would be easy to become lost, to miss the Stargate altogether.

He was confident he was still heading in the right direction, because he could still hear the roar of the river on his left. The Gate was about five klicks from the river crossing; that would be nothing with a clear path and plenty of energy, but a hard task in the dark, trackless forest, already battered and freezing cold.

Another obstacle loomed; a fallen tree, roots splaying into the air, ripped from the ground, leaving a deep pit in the earth, filled with a tangle of thorny creepers which stretched away to either side. John squinted, trying to see a path through. His knife would be no use; a machete would have done the job, but John would just have to find a way around.

The ground sloped down steeply to the left, a jungle of small saplings and large, dark green tangled shrubs which had sprung up in the light and space created by the fallen tree. John began to force his way through, pushing branches aside with his arms, ducking low to find a passage beneath the close-woven thicket. He stepped forward, expecting solid earth beneath his foot, but felt only space; a rift in the ground hidden by the undergrowth. He wavered, tried to regain his balance, grabbed at the branches around him, began sliding on the slick surface of leaves and mud, pitched forward and crashed down into the hidden fold in the earth, caught briefly in the woody clasp of a shrub, which broke beneath his weight to send him tumbling further down. He skidded and bounced down the nearly vertical slope, momentum forcing him through the smaller branches, larger branches snapping on impact, clothes snagging on a protruding root holding for a second to then tear and release him to fall, straight down, the last six feet.

He landed, half on the soft, rotting undergrowth of the forest floor, half in a stagnant pool of dark, marshy water. He lay, still. The fall itself had only taken a few seconds; a few short moments of noise and pain and rushing, hurtling descent. Now, John was grateful for the stillness and, though the moisture was once again seeping into his clothes, the soft surface he was lying on felt like a safe haven after the sharp, jagged roughness of his fall.

John, face down in the mud, raised his head; and blinked. More shallow, muddy pools stretched out in the gloom before him, presumably a marshy area bordering the river. He let his head fall again and groaned. _Get out of the water, John, _he thought to himself, without moving. He raised his head once more, vision obscured by a clump of tough grasses. Through the stalks he saw something bobbing erratically; a small, flickering, white light, wavering from side to side. _Marshlight, werelight, _he thought, his frozen, confused mind struggling to make sense, _drawing in unwary travellers. _The light moved closer and he could hear the soft, uneven squelch of something moving over the muddy ground with an odd, limping gait.

John slid his arms beneath him, feeling the mirey slime forcing its way between his fingers. He slowly pushed his body up, peeling away from the saturated earth with a soft sucking sound. He raised his head further and squinted, feeling muddy water running out of his hair, and down his face and back.

John, having lost or abandoned his teammates, having gone on alone in the dark and cold, having fallen to lie dazed and in pain, looked up into the light. And the light that shone on his face illuminated not just the mud and dirt and bloody scratches, but a strange expression; a mixture of astonishment, joy and not a little embarrassment.

"Hello, Teyla," croaked John, with a lop-sided smile.

oOo

The stretcher had saved her, Teyla told him. She had clung to it and though she had been flung down the rapids with all the force and raw, freezing power of a glacial river in spate, she had kept her head and kept hold of the stretcher, managing to bring both of its poles together in front of her so that when they had been brought up short against some protruding rocks, they were strong enough to halt Teyla's progress. She had pulled herself out of the water onto a rock, dragged the stretcher along and wedged it between more rocks closer to the shore, lowered herself once more into the water and, clinging to the poles, had made her way to another rock. Teyla had needed all her strength and determination to make her way to the shore, but she had a lot of both of those things and she had made it, to lie, exhausted but triumphant, safely on the damp earth beneath the trees.

Teyla knew the business of survival very well, in a whole range of circumstances. She had assessed her situation quickly; she was soaking wet and freezing cold, she was bruised, but the main pain came from her right ankle. She had on her tac vest and P90. She still had the stretcher. Within ten minutes Teyla had a fire lit, had taken off her clothes, wrung them out as hard as she could and put them back on again. The next ten minutes had seen her dismantle the stretcher, use part of it to splint her ankle, which was either badly sprained or broken, she wasn't sure, set aside the other pole for a crutch and eat two power bars which she knew would warm her up and give her energy. Her immediate needs met, Teyla had tried her radio, which she was unsurprised to find dead. She had looked at the sky; not long til nightfall. It would be foolish to wander off into the wilderness alone when she was safe here for now. There were no paths through the ancient forest and it was a treacherous place with two sound ankles. The best thing was to stay and wait for rescue. She had decided to allow herself a little more time by the fire and then gather some pine branches to make a small shelter. Teyla had hoped her teammates were making good progress back to the Stargate; she had hoped that Rodney was not too badly hurt and would get help soon. But for herself, she had been quite content to wait, with the almost casual stoicism expected of any Athosian.

Pine branches gathered and layered with efficiency, Teyla had sat by her fire, eyes closed, attuning herself to the sounds and scents of the darkening forest. She had smelt the damp earth, the evening mist rising, the muddy turmoil of the churning river. She had heard the rush and splash of the water, a rattling stone, a leaping fish; and in the forest the subtler sounds, the flit of a disturbed bird, the soft tread and pause of a predator on the scent. Teyla had felt as if her senses were expanding to fill her surroundings so that she had almost lost her sense of self in the vastness and wildness of the forest.

Something had jarred and her eyes had flown open to see that darkness had fallen. A sudden splintering and snapping, uncontrolled, alien to the scene that had built up in Teyla's inner eye. Teyla had taken up her P90, on with the light and off with the safety, she had fastened it onto its sling. Weapon in one hand, makeshift crutch under her other arm, she had stood, facing the forest, scanning an area of shallow marshy pools that extended from the margin of the river.

So, Teyla, limping through the mud, the light from her P90 a beacon in the night, had found her team leader. She had almost laughed to find him so very filthy and waterlogged. Almost, but not quite, because he had undoubtedly been having a harsh time in the wild wood and, to find him alone had been an unpleasant surprise.

John, watching the rivulets of clear, mild rainwater making their way over the curve of the Athosian tent, recalled Teyla's encouraging words as they limped together back to her fire by the riverside. How he had once more wrung out his sodden and now filthy and torn clothes, how they had cleaned the worst of the mud from his injuries, how he had forced down a power bar and some water and how they had decided what to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

John sat up and stretched carefully. Numerous scabs itched and the stitches in his right bicep and left thigh pulled tightly. His bruised muscles were stiff; he needed to move.

Ronon still sat on the floor, methodically sharpening each of his knives in turn, the rhythmic swish against the whetstone a counterpoint to the plinking of the rain off the eaves of the tent. Rodney still slept, snoring, his head now pillowed on his laptop. Teyla still meditated, healing herself through the calm control of her thoughts.

John stood, gradually straightening up, stretching his arms out to the side and then overhead, touching the roof of the tent and causing a sudden cascade of water down its sides. He stepped over to the entrance and stood, watching the rain, taking deep, slow breaths of the mild, damp air, enjoying being right here, right now, his team a solid presence behind him.

oOo

Teyla had been concerned to hear about Ronon, that his attempt to lead away the wild cats may have ended badly; and Rodney, left hidden in the undergrowth, needing medical attention, but alone and defenceless.

"I do not see what else you could have done," she said. "But now it is dark and the forest, as you know, is treacherous. We need to help our friends, but putting our own lives at risk would not be helping."

John sat, close to the fire, his arms wrapped round his knees, dressings and band-aids visible through his torn clothes.

"We've got the lights from our P90s," he said.

"Which are not enough, as you well know," replied Teyla. "This forest is old, I would guess untouched for the ten thousand years since the Ancients built here. It was a difficult walk from the gate when we were all uninjured, fresh and the day was bright. We must wait for the dawn. Or for rescue."

"Or," said John, with growing hope, "we could wait 'til the moons rise. Didn't Rodney say, this place has two great big moons?"

"As I recall, he did," said Teyla doubtfully. "But I am not convinced moonlight would be enough."

"If there's a fighting chance, we have to take it," insisted John.

Teyla smiled. "A fighting chance," she agreed.

oOo

They waited, watching the flickering flames, bright in the darkness, until slowly a silvery sheen crept across the ground and far away over the river, where the forest floor began to climb to distant mountains, the moons rose. First one, a great, fat white globe, either far bigger or far nearer than Earth's moon, then another a little smaller, or further away, a shining crescent, sharp-edged like a sickle. As they rose their light increased until John looked at Teyla questioningly and she nodded.

"But we must have a care!" she warned. "Even fair bright moonlight such as this casts black shadows that will deceive!"

Teyla said they should follow the line of the river back upstream a little way before cutting overland.

"The way you were going seemed to be thick with undergrowth that we would not be able to penetrate," she said. "We will loop round, back toward your earlier course."

Teyla doused the fire and John scattered the pine branches from her shelter. They looked at each other.

"You okay?" asked John.

"I am well enough," replied Teyla. "And you?"

"I'm just fine!" he said, with a half smile.

They both knew this was not the case. Both had swallowed the dirty river water and were feeling slightly sick; both had been battered in the rapids. Teyla's ankle was throbbing, John's jagged cuts from the roots and branches stung and burned. Still, they needed to find their team-mates, or get to the Gate for help.

In the eerie white moonlight they carefully traversed the muddy ground along the bank of the river, stepping carefully and avoiding the ruts and hollows, until they came to a ravine leading away from the shore where the trees were mainly coniferous and the ground was covered in a thick layer of pine needles, relatively easy to negotiate. John and Teyla made their halting way into the forest, the noise of the river receding behind them. To either side rocks protruded from the earth, rearing up and casting dark shadows.

Teyla sniffed. And frowned. She gestured to John to stop, turned to him and whispered.

"I fear there may be predators ahead. Their scent hangs in the air."

John sniffed the bitter animaly scent; definitely cats. If these were the cats that Ronon had gone after, then he wanted more than a word with them. He flicked off the safety on his P90 and heard Teyla do the same. They followed the ravine, pressing themselves against one rocky side and as it curved round to the left, peered cautiously around.

Silver light reflected off sleek fur and twitching ears. One enormous black cat stalked to and fro, tail twitching. Several others lay or stood, gazes fixed intently, unwaveringly on a single point; a narrow fissure in the rocky wall opposite, where faintly, something pale could be seen. The prowling cat stalked up to the crevice, snarled quietly in a grumbling, half-hearted manner and idly batted at the opening, forcing its sharp-clawed paw into the gap. The pale thing moved, the cat jerked back with an offended mewl.

John and Teyla retreated slowly around the corner. Their eyes met. Such huge beasts would not be frightened off merely by a quick spray from a P90 above their heads; apparently they had not been scared away by Ronon's blaster. They would go in hard and fast, and kill or injure as many as it took for the others to get the message.

John gestured for Teyla to stay close to the rock wall for support. He stood next to her, weapon at the ready, held up three fingers, then two, then one. They burst into the open, firing a broad spray, then picking off specific targets one by one. The lead animal initially turned to fight, was hit several times and with a howl of pain turned and fled, the other cats following, three remaining still on the ground.

The forest was silent once more. Until with a wince and a curse, Ronon forced himself out of the tight crevice in which he'd been hiding.

oOo

Ronon had not wanted to hide; he had had to run and hide for seven years and was not pleased that he'd been forced to do the same by a bunch of wild animals. Charging through the forest in an enjoyably determined assault on the two cats that had been stalking them, however, had ended in disaster when the cats' flight had led to their pack, lounging at their ease, but ready and eager to join in playing with a lively piece of prey. Ronon had been clawed several times across his shoulders, chest and arms; the lead cat had casually batted the blaster out of his hand and could easily have killed him outright. But, like the earth animals, they liked to play and Ronon had been allowed to flee, away from the cats' odorous cave and down the ravine toward the river. He realised that the cats' easy loping gait was impossible to outrun; several outflanked him straight away and it was only luck that led him to trip and fall facing the narrow crack in the rock. He pushed himself in, scraping skin, tearing cloth, the cats' paws batting and scraping at the rock around him. They howled when they realised they couldn't get to him and hissed when they pushed in the tips of their paws, only to feel themselves clawed in return by Ronon's knives.

Then they wandered off, with the appearance of nonchalance, to disport themselves in graceful feline attitudes about the floor of the ravine, or casually draped over the rocks. They groomed themselves, they made deep-throated purring sounds to each other, they rubbed heads in shows of affection. Ronon was not deceived; at every tiny shift he made to ease his discomfort the cats' heads would whip in his direction, their eyes flat, sinister, palely glowing in the dawning moonlight. If he emerged they would tear him apart.

Ronon did not say much about his ordeal, the hours he'd spent trapped in a crevice so tight he could barely breathe, not knowing when or if help would come. Nor did he seem surprised to find his two team-mates reunited. He acknowledged the rescue with a brief, "Sheppard," and, "Teyla," and, beginning to scout further up the ravine, said, "Need to find my weapon."

He found his blaster half buried, forced down into the pine needle carpet by the weight of large paws. Then, looking around, asked, "Where's McKay?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The light was taking on the blue tinge of early twilight and still the rain fell, steadily, inevitably. John turned away from the blue-grey forest and toward the golden glow of the lamplit tent.

Ronon had finished sharpening his knives and was methodically concealing them once more about his clothes, boots and hair. Teyla was making tea, which she did as if it were an extension of her meditation, with a calm, but purposeful deliberation. John sat down on the edge of his bed and accepted the cup Teyla offered him with a smile of thanks.

He looked at Rodney, still asleep on his laptop. He had lost his last one in the explosion and was keeping this one close; John wondered if, when he woke, the Atlantis logo would be imprinted on his face.

When three-quarters of his team had been reunited, John felt more than ever the urgency of getting back to Rodney. Together they could either stay with him until morning or carry him back to the Gate tonight.

Ronon, as usual, casually dismissed his injuries, saying, "I'm fine. Let's find McKay." In the moonlight, however, John and Teyla could see black areas on his coat, and there were many; they would use the last of their meager first aid kits on Ronon's injuries when they had moved well away from the cats' lair, found Rodney and lit a large fire.

They made their way up through the forest, with no attempt to be stealthy and a burst now and again from one or other of their weapons. They wanted the message to the cats to be clear: keep away.

Ronon retraced his own steps easily, even in the dappled moonlight and led them unerringly back to the place where Rodney had been left, hidden in the hollow at the base of a tree.

He wasn't there.

John knelt down and looked at the disturbed thorn branches and the discarded emergency blankets amid the drift of fallen leaves.

"Where've you got to, McKay?" he said, worriedly.

Ronon studied the area, looked at the pattern of tracks on the ground, rose from his crouch and strode to a tall fir tree across the clearing. He reached up through the spiralling arrangement of branches and shook the tree.

"You can come down now, McKay!"

A surprised cry was followed by a snap of branches and Rodney fell out of the tree and bounced from branch to branch to land on Ronon, who supported him as he slithered all the way to the ground.

"You came back!" said Rodney, looking up from his position slumped at the foot of the tree.

"Of course we came back," said John, helping him to his feet. He looked around at his dirty, injured and exhausted team and felt a tension deep inside him relax. They stood looking at each other; just looking. Until John gave a satisfied nod, clapped his hands together once and said, "Campfire!"

They built a fire. The ground was wet and muddy, the wood damp, the air frigid, but with the tattered emergency blankets to sit on and Ronon's blaster to ignite the wood, they made a comfortable enough campsite.

Rodney, still pale, but alert and coherent, told them his jumbled recollections of the mission. He had triumphantly and with a flourish, depressed the final key to disconnect the ZPM. And then he had found himself in silvery darkness, tightly wrapped, buried, smothered and confined within a cage. He could have panicked; he could have struggled and thrashed. Instead, such was his utter bewilderment that he froze.

"Hello?" he said, in a small, confused voice. "Um... Hello? Is there anybody there?"

His voice sounded flat in the cold night air. There was no response.

"Sheppard?" He paused. "Teyla? Ronon?"

Rodney had been tempted just to go to sleep. He could just stay as small and still as possible and hope when he woke up the whole situation would have gone away or resolved itself or something. Instead, he slowly pushed at his wrappings, realising the crinkly sheets he was wrapped in were emergency blankets; a clue of some kind. He also realised that he was feeling strangely weak and shaky and, when he had finally managed to push aside the thick thorn branches, crawl out and stand up, he found his chest hurt a lot and he had a headache. He sat down again, felt the damp earth beneath him, grabbed one of the blankets and sat down on that.

He had been left, alone, which led him to wonder what circumstances had arisen for that to be a good option, which led him to wonder further if anyone would return for him or if he'd have to find his own way back to the Gate. Staying wrapped up and going back to sleep started to look like it had been the best plan after all.

Something scuttled through the undergrowth behind him. Rodney whipped round, but could see nothing. Another noise came to his right; a rustle, a snap, was that a soft tread? Rodney leapt to his feet, heart pounding. He couldn't just sit on the ground all through the long night, or stand, jumping at shadows. He decided to climb a tree. At least that limited the number of predators that could get him. He looked around; smooth, bare trunks with no easy branches for an athletically challenged scientist to utilise. What he wanted was some kind of beginner's tree; a Christmas tree with evenly-spaced branches, starting from a low level.

Rodney tottered around the clearing, rejecting trees that didn't meet his criteria until his eye lighted on a friendly-looking conifer. He climbed it as easily as a child going upstairs to bed, wedged himself in amongst the branches, relaxed and went back to sleep.

He slept so well that repeated P90 and blaster bursts moving gradually closer through the forest did not wake him. It was not until he became aware of Ronon's voice and the branch he was sitting on received a hearty shaking that he jerked awake, flailed wildly, lost his grip on the tree and fell heavily onto his teammate.

oOo

They had sat by their fire, in a row, shoulders touching, ostensibly to stave off the cold in the darkest part of the night, but also as a constant reminder of each other's presence. To have lost his team one by one had seemed like a nightmare to John, to have found them again, a miracle.

John's head was nodding when he felt Ronon sit up straight, alert. He roused himself, rubbing his eyes. He could hear a whispering sound, louder and a different pitch to the rustling of branches in the chill breeze. It grew louder until his eye was caught by something overhead, he looked up and through the twisting branches saw the underside of a jumper.

"Think our ride's here, folks!" he said, voice rough with exhaustion. He nudged Rodney, who woke with a start and a confused, "Huh?"

The jumper circled once and then flew off toward the river. John knew the riverbank was one of the few open places a jumper would be able to land. They would set off and probably meet the S&R team halfway.

They had all stiffened up, sitting by their campfire in the bitterly cold night and it was a bedraggled, limping party that met Major Lorne and his team making their way up through the pine trees from the river. Major Lorne took in the burnt, torn and clawed clothes, the bloodstains overlaid with dried mud; he waved his men forward to help support the team and himself lent Colonel Sheppard his arm, seeing in John's expression a good deal more pain and a great deal less strength than he would care to admit.

The journey back to Atlantis passed in a blur and they were soon in the capable hands of Jennifer Keller and her medics. Drifting on a haze of painkillers, John had heard Jennifer comment that she could always rely on Colonel Sheppard's team for creativity and variety in their injury list.

oOo

The following morning, Colonel Carter had visited John in the infirmary.

"So, Colonel Sheppard, it seems that your team is quite comprehensively out of action!" she said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "Do you feel up to a debrief?"

John, having had a cocktail of drugs pumped, dripped and injected into his veins, was feeling pretty good. He gave Sam a rather truncated version of events, factual, but leaving out virtually everything in terms of his own feelings. Sam, however could read between the lines and knew exactly how it felt to believe a teammate lost, to believe that somebody had been left behind, to feel bereft of those she counted as family.

She looked around the infirmary: Teyla, who had cracked a bone in her ankle, Ronon, clawed by wild cats, Rodney, with burns on his chest and concussion-like symptoms.

"Take your team to the Athosian camp," Sam had said. "You all need some time to recover." She had paused. "That's an order, by the way."

oOo

John took another sip of his tea and looked round at his team once again. Rodney was sitting up, scrubbing at his laptop with his sleeve, where he had drooled on it, grumbling to himself. Ronon had fallen asleep, spread-eagled on one of the beds, totally relaxed and snoring. Teyla was staring into the flickering flames of the brazier which she'd lit to make the tea.

A gust of wind blew a flurry of raindrops to splatter against the side of the tent, rippling the canvas. The rain continued. John sat, fully present in the moment of peace, the soft yellow light enveloping his team, the gentle constancy of the summer rain suggesting an illusion of permanency, of safety. He knew nothing was permanent and very little safe, especially in the Pegasus Galaxy. The next mission might always be the last for any or all of them. But just for now, right in this moment, his three friends, his surrogate family, were here; and, he thought, considering the precariousness of life, the present moment is truly all any of us ever have.


End file.
